In Dreams, Do Come
by Invidium
Summary: Dreams are said to be the manifestations of dire indulgences from the depths of human fantasyBut, what happens when one cannot distinguish between reality and the life that is no more than a tragic dream? Not your average Bebop fairytale, kids.
1. Prologue: November Rain

Prologue: November Rain  
  
[Guns N' Roses: November Rain]  
  
The faint pulse of engaged turbines ran their course through the weary steel walls of the ship, the distant drone of jets stifling anguished cries. The soft cries of a woman. The frightened, vulnerable, painful cries of a woman left trembling against the cold metal frame with nothing left of her face. Her facade shattered and drifting out of mind's eye along the stream of tears, leaving her with only gently fallen strands of violet to conceal the twisted and cruel agony within.  
  
~*~  
  
The same fair face, what seemed like eternities thereafter, was parched of tears though the stains still stung like a bitter slap. Faye took her leave from the wall, ignoring the constricting lump in her throat, the nausea that dwelled in the very pit of her gut, the burn of her bloodshot eyes, and mostly tried to set aside the torn remains of herself that she'd so rarely shown, this very situation being precisely why. A dull fury entreated the depths of her emerald orbs, a thousand thoughts plaguing her mind yet none of them staying long enough to be pondered over and/or reasoned with.  
  
{ Why the hell did he have to be such a stubborn son of a bitch and--!! }  
  
{ What the fuck is with his talking in circles!? }  
  
{...What the hell did I do that for!? }  
  
The rest of readable thought ended there as a shadow was casted over her fragile frame. She flinched, the adumbration being none other than the wise, all knowing Jet Black. So what, he had heard her pour her heart and soul out to Spike? So what, he heard from his little bonzai room that Spike apparently didn't give two shits? So what, he and the rest of the damned planet heard her heart break wickedly and crumble into dust!? So the fuck what!? She could read his still silhouette and solemn silence like a book, and without giving him the courtesy of a passing glance for more than one reason, she broke nigh unto a run only to carelessly thrash open the aperture of the hangar.  
  
"...Faye." Jet hesitated, fully aware that dealing with a haughty huntress in a highly volatile emotional state was one of the most delicate operations known to man-kind. "Don't you go do anything irrational! We're going there to make sure he's alright and that's IT!" He tried still to soften the fact that he's betraying Spike's wishes by convincing himself that it was the only morally sensical thing to do. His well chiseled, prosthetic arm nearly ripped off the door of the Hammerhead before allowing him entrance to the small vessel, awaiting the woman's revolt.  
  
"Irrational!? IRRATIONAL!?" Her upper lip curled into a brutal snarl, she tore open the hatch of her trusty little mono-craft and threw herself into the pilot's seat, her slender neck still in the gap between hatch and hull and her head lashing in Jet's direction, narrowed eyes piercing through his gaze of almost genuine concern as daggers would a child's bare flesh. "Fine fucking time to start giving advice on being rational, eh Jet!?"  
  
Jet retorted with a low snort of disgust, mostly at himself, and realized she was right. As much as he despised the thought, this beast of a woman was right. What in God's Glorious Hell was he thinking--letting Spike go off like that!? This went way past the boundaries of respect and leaked overwhelmingly into common sense.  
  
He winced slightly at the crash the round portal of the Red Tail made against the rest of the dome when a long, thin, and still quivering arm slammed it closed. As much as she would have loathed him for it, he pitied her. In his line of business, women bawling and blubbering was an every day thing; whether it be to save their asses from prison or from loss of family. Yet nothing seemed to rival in the least what he had heard that day. He'd always known Faye had feelings somewhere underneath that tight little vinyl suit though she went well out of her way to hide them. But the wrench of pure, undetested agony in her sobs brought his own silent tears vivid in his eyes. The unkind dejavu of the whole `Don't know what you've got 'til it's gone` scenario all too damned familiar.  
  
Nimble fingers manipulated the pad of ellusive buttons in the control panel. Each of her perfectly shaped, sanded, and glossed fingernails in a fierce blur; the alternate to her right thruster roaring to life in age long seconds. "Damn you!!" She hissed a coarse string of vulgarities through gritted teeth, violently forcing the steerings of the Red Tail foreward, and dissapearing into the pale mist of dawn. She raced each seemingly insignificant ray of light and just dared them to fuck with her this day.  
  
"You bastard, Speigel! You'd better be alive and kicking when I get there or I'll..." Her breath stopped there.  
  
It all stopped there.  
  
Time stopped at the truncated end of her sentence.  
  
Him not being alive was never an option until now.  
  
Her breath caught in her chest, and wind released in emittance of a low growl as she jerked herself every direction humanly possible driven by each ounce of that passionate hatred she had left. Wrecklessly, the body of the ship weaved in and out of the cluttered buildings, its pilot blinded by her rage of tears alongside each refraction of new light that scorned her from the jeering sheets of mirrored glass the skyscrapers flaunted.  
  
Intangibly having gained an upper hand against the tides of time, Faye immediately recognized the syndicate building. It could've been because of the elaborately carved granite pillars, and it could've been because she's just that effin good. One could also say that it just might have been the thick cloud of police crafts billowing over the broken crown of the structure that gave it away. Whatever the case, she was there, and an overbearing pain, though quick, shot through her veins and left her blood run frigid in its wake.  
  
Unruly and in no mood for delay, police ships were knocked aside and conformed to her will whether they fancied the idea or not. Without the care enough to dismiss the engine, she forcefully flung her enire body against the hatch and stumbled out onto the red carpet. They met one another via the graceful toes of her boots and a few exquisite fingertips, immediately wary of the gathering syndicate members which corrupted the air.  
  
{ittai nanio..!?} Before her mind could consciously think or speak anything, her body frantically shoved its way through the crowd. "SPIKE!!" {...please be alive, damn you. }  
  
Her eyes were lit aflame with the familiar sting of tears as all that became visible through the mesh of stunned bystanders was a single, endearingly tacky, black shoe. His name, again, hoarsely passed through her lips. The drastic throb of her heart seared as it became ensnared in her temples, and she gave the man in front of her a final push aside. Her eyes, never at any age, and her mind, no matter how experienced, could've readied her for the horror that lay sprawled in all its own wretched glory over the staircase.  
  
~*~  
  
The dawn was unforgiving that morning, and all at once her vision deceived her with the most cunning of cold illusion in anything ever known before. All at once, the sight brought her to the floor with the heart she didn't think existed any longer now bleeding with a malicious generosity through vengeful tears. All at once. The sun illuminated Spike's still form, each ray of light dancing in affair with the verdant ridden locks and flawlessly accentuating the lifeless pale tinge of his skin.  
  
Faye dropped to her knees beside him, using whatever willpower she had mustered up from that boundless finite source to keep herself from collapsing over him and drowning him with the sweet salt that burned down her cheeks. He was lain face down in a pool of his own relatively fresh blood, leaving all conscious train of thought behind him, somewhere inbetween what he thought was Hell and Earth. She curled her trembling fingers around the material of his jacket, her chest paining and struggling to breathe, but failing miserably. Faye couldn't scream, she couldn't think, she couldn't force herself to inhale to continue crying, she just sat on her shins hunched over his body, and in the back of her mind, behind all the cruel memories of his smile that she just loved to hate and hated to love, trying desperately to remember how to breathe.  
  
Jet, though not far behind her, had gotten there all too late. The mob of people were standing in shock and awe, still with the winding path that the huntress had made for herself between them. From the complete clashed grouping of syndicate members, those from the ISSP, and civilians alike, he knew what happened and stopped cold in his steps, turning his head away before his mind could register what he was staring at. Reluctantly, however, he raised his head again and opened the moist sapphire eyes, nearly gawking at what he saw. He expected Faye to be there, but nothing like in the state she was ; her nose was buried into the nape of Spike's neck and the endless rivers of fervent despair ran along the gentle curve of her nose, to the very tip, and graced his lifeless body.  
  
... It always rained on Mars...  
  
~*~Author's Note~*~  
  
I can assure you, this is all but what it may seem. There will be twenty- six chapters in total, and an epilogue. Reviews are more than welcome, and if someone feels the urge to annoy me, please do so, I'm entirely too lazy to finish this story without being nagged.  
  
{ ..... } = thoughts.  
  
-Glossary- "Ittai nanio" - roughly translates to "What the hell!?" 


	2. Lamentation's Requiem

-Disclaimer-

I do not own Cowboy Bebop, or any of the characters therein. 

Well, except for Vicious.  I bought him in the form of a plush toy from eBay…Seriously, if you saw a Vicious plushie, you know you'd buy that just for kicks, too. =)~

**Chapter I: Lamentation's Requiem (The Real Folk Blues)**

[The Real Folk Blues]

_Aishiteta to nageku niwa  _[Too much time has passed by to]__

_Amarinimo toki wa sugite shimatta _[Lament that we were deeply in love.]__

_Mada kokoro no hokorobi wo _[The wind is still blowing, while my heart]

_Iyasenu mama kaze ga fuiteru _[Cannot heal all the tears in it.]

_Hitotsu no me de asu o mite _[One of my eyes sees tomorrow]__

_Hitotsu no me de ke no o mitsumeteru _[And the other sees yesterday.]__

_Kimi no ai no yurikagode _[I wish I could sleep in the cradle of your]__

_Mo ichido yasurakani nemuretera _[Love, again.]__

_Kawaita hitomi de dareka naite __kure_[Someone, cry for me with parched eyes.]__

_The real folk blues _[The real folk blues]__

_honto no kanashimi ga shiritai dake _[ I only want to know what true sadness is.]__

_Doro no kawa ni tsukatta _[Sitting in muddy water]__

_Jinsei mo waruku wa nai _ [Isn't such a bad life,]__

_Ichido kiri de owaru __nara_[If it ends after the first time]__

_Kibou ni michita zetsuboto _[Hopeless hope,]__

_Wanagashikakearoteru ko no chansu_ [And the chance laid with traps.]__

_Nani ga yaku te warui no ka _[What is right, or wrong?]__

_Koin no omoi to kura mitaita _[s like the two sides of a coin.]__

_Dore dake ikireba iyasareru no darou _[How long must I live until I release?]__

_The real folk blues _[The real folk blues]__

_Honto no yorokobi ga shiritai dake _[I just want to feel a true pleasure.]__

_Hikaru mono no subete ga _[All that glitters is not gold...]__

_Ougen wa kagiranai_

_~Be careful when you're with that woman.~_

The chilling, hollow hiss greeted him in his ether realm.  Tainted memory in a nostalgic black and white soon placing vile face to the equally charming voice.

_~Women are all liars.~_

Haunted words escaped the crease of her lips in a sorrowful premonition, sapphire pools of hers conscience laden.  She had known.

_~I see you were able to meet Julia...I'm glad.~_

Annie sat morbidly hunched on the homely bench beneath the window of her small shop on the corner.  Wrapped securely around her waist were her arms, steeped in a valley of crimson.  Even at the eve of her passing, she had genuinely been happy to be comforted by the reminiscences of a world she once knew.

_~That day, if I had killed you...I would have been free.~_

Regret?  Fate was cruel, but was fate also that malevolent?  Alas, her quivering hand that held the gun before him did, indeed, tremble with the tears of some remorse.  One couldn't help but wonder what it was she regretted; leaving, or having left without his elimination?

_~My left eye sees the past._

_-Then what about your right eye?~_

~_Doko iku no...?_

_Naze iku no?~_

He found himself staring down the stout barrel of the Glock, not so much intimidated by the artillery as he was by the imperative glare he received from behind it.  It was the first time he felt her eyes pierce his soul, etch their path, and begin tearing away at the essence of his misery with its talons.  The first time she saw through him.

_~Kore wa...yume ne..._

Julia murmured her words to him in a tone barely audible.  He beheld his own reflection in the glistening, slowly dimming depths of her orbs as he helplessly cradled her in his arms.    Feeling her life draining from between his very fingertips, all he could do was tenderly reply...

_-Ah...warui yume sa.~_

_~Oh, you're finally up...~_

Darkness stalked him once more, Faye's voice a diminishing echo surrendering to the infinite night.

~*~

**Author's Notations**

~…..~ = Recollections

I know this was an extremely short chapter, but this is also CRUCIAL to plot development. So I wanted to reveal as little of the plot as possible while still being able to make sure everyone follows.  I really don't like putting things in plain English, so, if something puzzles you and you're not quite sure what it means, feel free to e-mail me at EuphoricMoonPies@aol.com.  I really appreciate all the reviews ^^, too, especially since the people who complimented me on the writings happen to be very talented themselves. 

Glossary: "Doko iku no…?  Naze iku no?" – "Where are you going?  Why are you going?"

                "Kore wa...yume ne…" – I wasn't sure how this was properly said in Japanese, so, if            anyone could correct me, you're more than welcome, but it should mean "This is…a dream"

                "Ah…warui yume sa." – Again, I wasn't exactly sure of this, but it was intended as "Yeah, just a bad dream"


	3. And Justice for All

**Chapter II: And Justice For All**

[Metallica - And Justice For All]

Spike's oblique reverie led his limp form to the heavens above.  The light of what he so desired penetrated his eyelids though they lay closed.   Warm droplets of rain trickled over his skin, by the divine wind worn frigid before their leave from his neck.  It was, in all aspects of enigma, illusive.  There was no distinguishing how long he was devoured by his recollections until they turned wickedly towards actuality.  The euphoric effect of his breathless, bloodless fantasies began to wear away when he realized that his prior daydream had held some vain prophecy.     

            _{Matte, I can… feel the rain...} _Spike struggled to inhale through the distinctive taste of his own blood as it welled in his throat.  The liquid was thick and warm, hindering his breathing and rousing the muscles in his throat to spasm.  He could do nothing other than curse to himself, to  damn whatever godly hand decided that he wouldn't die.  Another dire wave of pain coursed through his incapacitated body with the second stifled cough.  Fire was scorching the carnage of his stomach when tensed, and thankfully, the pain beckoned a slow unconscious slumber.__

--and for the first time since he could remember—

--Spike held the same visual plain in both eyes.

              The past had collided with the present and laid beautifully entwined before him in a harmonious display.  He saw Jet lean back through the entranceway of the kitchen, casually taking a glance towards what had come to be a reckless, but close friend. The white apron was tied loosely and shrouded his clothes, giving him the appearance of one of the quaint chefs that only seem to find a niche in tiny out of the way restaurants.  With a careless flick of the wrist, he sent his famous meatless Qing-jiao-rou-si through the air; and with another maneuver of his hand, caught the small blanket of food in its place at the center of the pan.  

An ingenious Ed scampered through the ship on her hands and knees with Andy's cowboy hat secured over her unruly carrot-orange mane.  A few stubborn strands of hair had escaped the brim of the hat when she reared onto her knees with a loud screech, a familiar mutt unwillingly playing the role of `rider`.  Whimpering, Ein's nails dug into the back of her shirt, the little Corgi clinging for dear life while she leaped over the couch in a single bound.  All that was seen being a blur of the brightest gold, alight with an innocent mischief all her own.  

He saw Faye.  The soft jade eyes staring into his with more emotions than he could decipher in a thousand years, yet none at the same time.  She was the ideal symbolic structure of all that was corrupt in this world.  She was greedy with a haughty sense of self, and he was quite confident that she could surely manipulate the devil himself if given the opportunity. Why his thoughts lingered on her for such a long while was a mystery to him, and he refused to allow it to be anything more than his own driven appetite for a decent challenge.

            Muted sobs fluttered softly through his ears, close enough to be heard yet too distant to touch, and too ambiguous to be identified.  His first reaction was to call for Julia, as if by some kind twist of fortune she'd be alive and at his side, waiting for him to awaken in the comfort of her apartment on the avenue.  The vivid feel of  her soul slipping through his grasp alone enough to make whatever ribbons remained of his gut lurch sorely.  He couldn't summon the strength to open his eyes.  Every extremity and pore became as heavy as the weight of sin.  Managing another short, sharp breath, a sweet aroma eased his lungs.  Not to say that this didn't further perplex the fuck out of him. _{...Faye!?}_

Beneath her palm and the layers of material crumpled within, she felt the aggressive start of his body that accompanied a rasp for air.  Her eyes widened in misgiving trepidation, dismissing all the remains of tears to bewilderment.  Simply blinking, she brought her ear over the indenture of his spine.  Instantaneously, her head jerked up at a jumbled exhale, her anxious and blatantly shocked gaze darting to capture her comrade. "He's breathing!" she laughed with almost a schoolgirlish squeal in grateful disbelief.  "Kami, Jet!! He's alive!!"

            She couldn't suppress the puzzled grin any longer and let it dance exuberantly from ear to ear.  It took a few moments for her words to come to any sense whatsoever on Jet's end.  Hell, for all he knew, she could have just reached a more advanced stage of hysterics.  But then there was the matter of her smile.  Rarely had he ever seen Faye genuinely smile in oppose to the hellish little way she smirked just for GP.  No, no, the closest thing anyone got to a smile was that almost childish cheeky grin when she wanted something substantial or needed to be bailed out.  Clearly, neither case was applicable here.

Breaking into nothing modest of a sprint, the Black Dog himself, despite his wound and crutch, climbed the elegant staircase.  Without a second thought, his wooden aide clattered abandoned on the plush red carpeting, and he knelt beside his fallen partner.  His muscular arm reached forth, middle and forefinger extended beneath the frame of Spike's jaw, and Faye's utterly contagious expression molded the sullen corners of his mouth into one of equal magnitude. "Why that son of a bitch, I'll be God damned!"

~*~

In the days that passed, Spike laid motionless in his hospital bed, wired in every place fathomable through I.V's and tubes of such nature that he was positive were placed in certain areas just to piss him off immensely.  Breathing, though, had become more a comfortable routine with the help of mild narcotics.  In fact, he was convinced that the only effect of the sedatives he wasn't fond of was the way his thoughts, at times, divulged in disarray and distortion.  Over thinking things never did give an optimistic outlook on his broken pride.  

Not all was bad, though.  It's not like he was alert and aware of his surroundings for more than a few hours in the day, but from what he could soberly establish, someone usually occupied his room.  This either made him feel compelled to do one of two things: A) smoke, and 2) roll over and call the nurse for another dose of morphine.  The latter of the two being when Faye was there, which, to his surprise, happened to be most of the time.  She'd obnoxiously poke at the wires in his arm, toy with the position of the bed, and feed him an onslaught of rude, sarcastic comments as just part of her good wholesome nature.  But, it was when he mimicked the tactic of his childhood more commonly known as 'sleep' that he was intrigued by her presence.

            _{I'm enjoying her company??...Holy shit I really need to get off these drugs.}_

            Fading in and out of his conscious mind he would hear the quieted clap of her boots against the linoleum, but she would always slip them off if she thought he was asleep.  It was routine that she seat herself in the same reclining easy chair at his bedside and fiddle with her deck of cards.  He assumed that nine times out of ten she was practicing her devious thieving casino strategies.  He could hear the soft rush of the cards when the air passed between them as the split deck meshed together into one before it  was bridged and parted again.  The other one out of ten, she would talk to him almost--dare he even think it--kindly.  She wouldn't lose all character, however.  She'd be telling him about how ludicrous the price of cigarettes were, and how, when he got back to the ship, he would owe her for 'Every God damned pack I've smoked.'

            Jet's heavy footsteps fell strange through the barren corridor, receiving only a few ill coughs and lewdities on a patient-to-nurse basis from a room he passed in compensation.  It was around six-thirty in the afternoon, and he concluded that all the lazy personnel that stalked the halls like vultures behind a woman's car at night anxious for her to give them their next meal, had taken their happy asses home.  Home.  To their families, their girlfriends, or quite possibly their extensive pornographic viewing collections.  Either way, it was home, and why that word seemed to ridicule him, he didn't bother to dwell on.

He peeked curiously into the doorway, judging from the silence that Spike had insulted her and she had taken vengeance by ripping open the bullet wound again.  It was somewhat disappointing what he actually did find; Faye sat somberly with her elbows resting on her knees and her intense gaze fixated on the pattern of the wallpaper.  The heaviness of her brow line over brooding eyes was something of an unusual sight bestowed upon her.   The slight purse of her lips reflecting how even a woman as shallow as that could be drowned by her own thought process once in a while.

            Jet cleared his throat a little, calling her name for the second time, a bit louder than he had the first.  She responded by straightening her posture and laying her hands in place of her elbows on her knees.  Reluctant to leave the floral décor of the wall, her eyes met with his.  When someone's known Jet for a decent amount of time, they learn to establish the differences in his quiet personas.  She filed this uncomfortable silence underneath the 'Faye, get the hell out of here' type category and rose to her feet.  Her blank expression was ever present over her features, her daze averse to dissipating as she snatched up the fresh pack of cigarettes from the night-table.

As if his vitality depended on the verge of tobacco, the sound of Spike's one pleasure left in life under the fingers of another had bolted his eyes open.   

            "Welcome to the land of the living there, Speigel." Jet chuckled gruffly and sat in place of the woman, settling his back into the cushion of the chair and speculating the beginnings of a quarrel.  He was almost relieved that signs of normality were being shown.  

            Spike's eyes narrowed in blatant annoyance and shot Jet a sharp look, then shifted to Faye peevishly.  Briefly, he wondered, if telekinesis was actually more than fairytales of the Pokemon sort.  At this point he was desperate for every last stick of poison in that pack, so surely there was no harm in trying anyway.  _{Alright now voodoo powers...uncurl the fingers around Daddy's last pack of sanity...} _His eyes bulged furiously from their sockets and one bushy eyebrow was lowered slightly further than the other.  The tip of his tongue poked through his strained lips, which went hand in hand with the deep shade of ruby his face was flushing as it tremored in unreserved concentration.  Wrinkled folds of skin were deemed a whitish color where they met and lapped in feud with one another.  __

            She glanced back from over her shoulder and caught the seething glower with an audacious smirk.  "Calm down, ass.  I'm only taking a couple." Insisted the antagonist.  Knowing very well that there was really nothing he could do about his current situation, Faye beat the top of the pack against her palm to evenly distribute the tobacco.  This was a relatively customary practice, but the way she articulated every stroke just happened to work him up a hair more each repetitive time.  Extra care was taken to further taunt him by peeling the red string that bound the pack with slow perfection.  It's not like she could help herself, teasing the bastard was just incredibly entertaining, especially when he was this irritable. 

 That was it. 

 As of now, Miss Valentine had just made her death wish.  

This had topped the tangerine incident.

"Besides, you owe me." She reminded him in a rather matter-of-factly tone.  With that, The Shrew took her pick of the litter and tossed the lot back onto the faux wooden finish of the night-table before proceeding out of the cubicle. 

He watched her with a trivial twitch of the muscle at his lower lid until the last of her shadow was swallowed by the hallway's offensive white light.  He'd have to plot revenge later. _{Wench}_

"Wench" Came another one of Jet's husky chains of laughter.  Being of the philosophical train of thought, bickering between the two of them was a reassuring indication considering the circumstances.  Of course, it was evident that Spike was irked by far more than his lack of nicotine, but it was to be expected.  Thing was, he couldn't find the sugar coated words of wisdom like he normally would; and soon enough, his chuckle inevitably lost itself in a dense cloud of tension that loomed overhead.  There wasn't much a man could say to someone who would make love to death if he had the chance, which is just about the only thing Spike hadn't done yet.

Spike, on the other hand, lay on the bed staring at his last eighteen remaining cigarettes in disbelief.  One thing that a person would have to fully comprehend if they were to merely even dream about weaving through the mess that was Spike Spiegel's mind, is that he often is, by choice, oblivious. _{Heartless woman...}_ He continued to pout to himself, the silence a familiar aspect of the lecture process which he was sure was about to follow.

            "Ever hear that one story about the fish, Jokutto, Spike?" Jet's voice tenderly began.

            He knew very well where this was leading; straight to hell and back.  "No, but I have this sneaking suspicion that you're going to tell me anyway."

"There once was this stream fish named Jokutto.  And, as you know, fish are turned out on their own from the moment they hatch.  Now this Jokutto, he wasn't your ordinary fish.  He wanted, more than anything, for life to be a challenge.  So the little fish decides that his serene home in the river just isn't what he wants and he decides to roam the ocean, where he heard anything can come true.  The problem is, even though he learned to adapt to the salt of the sea, he'd keep getting ensnared by the fishermen's net.  The first time, he was caught and sold as a pet.  After his escape, it happened only once more, and he was brought home to the fisherman's daughter.  She was very lovely, and also very nice, and as soon as Jokutto explained his ambitions, she liberated him.  But now, since Jokutto could evade the nets, he grew bored with the ocean.  Ultimately, he decided to go on land to prove that he could make his own fate." His tranquil crystalline orbs met with the oddly matched pair that Spike owned.  His voice as smooth and eloquently pronounced as he ended from which he began, never faulting.  Not surprisingly, all this earned was an honestly confused look from underneath disheveled pine locks.  "Do you know what happened when fate kicked Jokutto in the ass, Spike?"  Layman's terms it was, then.

            "Of course" His expression was still.  His intoxication level was at the point of no return, and with that, went what little of his sanity he had been blessed with.  "The fish felt deceived by the very laws of physics and had to spend the rest of his days trying to determine what kind of vast conspiracy went on over his head.

"Spike"

            "Jet"

            "Naturally, he died, but he was given the gift of reincarnation into a prosperous king many years later, perhaps the reason being because the fish had been mourning the death of one of his duplicitics for all the years she was living.  Maybe he was granted his second chance to truly become alive."

~*~

Vilification.  It struck him as something astonishing that one word could describe so much by reasoning with so little.  This was far from the first time he had felt betrayal, his arm, and his love were both lost to the contemptuous evil of the word.  Jet began walking absently as his thoughts badgered him.  He wasn't sure where it was he wandered, or where it was he wanted to bring his nomadic tendency, the urge to search for reason just became overwhelming.  He pondered as to why a man with an untold future would retch it into abyss because of the regrets he unveiled in his past; over ghastly remnants of mourning.  

Vilification, however, invoked corroboration.  Justification as to why something so petty was brought blindly by one who was, in his own right, virtuous.  Grieving is in no way feeble minded, but yearning, lingering, on something that will never be, is foolish.  Beyond foolish, even.  Spike, in all ways, dreaming, awake, enlightened, alive, or even dead, all that kid was, was damn troublesome!

**~*~Author's Notes~*~**

Glossary:

"Matte" – "Wait"

If anyone was wondering, the "tangerine incident" is in reference to Session 20: Pierrot Le Fou, where a bandaged Spike goes to reach for something of citrus nature, and Faye takes it, sits down, starts making a few witty comments, eats his orange, and then walks away and leaves the peel on his head.  I only put this here because when I read to revise, I had no idea what the hell I was talking about, so if you got it the first time around, I admire you. XD


	4. Midnight Cowboy's Theme

**Chapter III: **Midnight****** Cowboy's Theme**

[John Barry: Midnight Cowboy]

            Pale refractions of moonlight streamed over the worn floor panels of the common room, spilling in a faint silver through the kitchen door left slightly ajar, and casting a haunting array of shadows throughout the unnervingly still night.  A lonesome haze drifted along the toils of air, beams of soft platinum luminating the particles of dust and cigarette ash that hung adrift among scattered arrays of periodicals and coffee aged exquisitely to an estimated two weeks.  The silence was unbroken except for the serene harmony of breathing by only two, hardly audible beneath the quiet rivet the ceiling fan made with each revolution.  And if it hadn't been for this, the Bebop could be easily mistaken for the picture perfect poster idol for reckless abandonment.

            Irritated by the itch of the dressings wrapped around his waist and murmuring a vain hiss of curses at the sore wound, Spike shifted his position in the comfortably ragged cushion of the yellow couch.  He wasn't very fond of the idea of having to wake up to the world around him, and in attempt to fall back asleep as quickly as possible, he tried to lay his left arm somewhere other than underneath him; this accomplished exactly the opposite of what he intended.  With a stifled grunt, he bit the inside of his cheek to contend with the rush of pain.  Now not only did he have those utterly the hell annoying tingling needles inside of his arm, but they seemed to befriend his close companion, Paisery.  Paisery was the name he gave to his dearest of friends--you know, the one that was lodged up his ass at all times whether he wanted to have a say in it or not.  But since there was no one word to incorporate pain and misery into one big, super-dee-duper best friend, they were brought together as the body more commonly known as Paisery. Why, one might ask? Because Spike Spiegel deemed it so.

            And what Spike Spiegel said was held as the law of the land.

                        Always.

                                    ...Well, _almost always._

            With a vex sigh and a vulgar grumble, he went to reposition his thankfully now numb forearm over his chest, and only then did he become aware of the hand that rested just below his.  By this time, he had been able to actually conjecture that the hand beside his wouldn't be Julia's, and if he was lucky, he'd have one of those frisky little hospital nurses next to him.  He forced his eyes open groggily, through the clouded vision being able to make out the blades of the ceiling fan as they danced in pairs.  At least the morphine hadn't worn off _completely.  _It didn't take him too long to_ recognize the distinct smoke and stale coffee burdened fog that could only be described as that of the interior of the Bebop.  _

            Damn.  

                        He was, in fact, very much alive.

                        Very much back at the Bebop.

                        Very much without a nurse.

                        And to top it all off, he felt like he just got hit by a Mack truck.  

            Lady luck just wasn't on his side tonight...

                                                                          ...or was she?

            In any case, his eyes eventually became accustomed to the dim lighting enough to roam around the room as confirmation that he didn't land himself in hell.   He had to admit, though the old clunker was nowhere near heaven on earth or a hidden island of paradise, it was a sight for sore eyes.  Before they discoursed the feminine hand that held itself softon his chest, he already had a good idea of who it was, as much as it bewildered him.  Almost hesitantly his gaze wandered along the svelte milk-white arm and to its owner.

            And there slept Faye.  Settled on her calves and leaning over the edge of the sofa, her head was nestled in the crook of her other elbow, and her hair fell over the smooth contour of her cheek in a veil of violet wisps.  Christ, she looked like she hadn't slept for days on end, or bathed for that matter, he mused.  It wasn't that he personally cared, or that she had some offensive odor; it was just very unlike Faye to sacrifice smelling like the fruit salad stand in a buffet line for any person or reason.  But, even so, the aroma of her shampoo was vaguely noticeable when he took in a breath.  It was the same inequivocally delicate scent of the mystery woman that mourned him, of this, he was sure. Her warm breath cascaded tenderly across his shoulder through her lips, stained a faded hue of rose, which, he supposed, complimented the suttle smears of mascara that tainted her porcelain complexion, thus proving the Mystery Woman Theory.  And so it was decided; The Untouchable Shrew Woman did, in fact, have a heart.

            _~You're going to owe me for every God damned cigarette I've smoked, Spike Spiegel.~_ He could hear her threaten in that demanding juvenile tone she acquired when she tried to conceal her blatant emotions with hostility.  Just when you think you had a woman mapped out like the city you grew up in, they tossed a few subliminal messages in the mix and made things so damned complicated that you'd be tickled pink to get your hands on a few calculus problems.  He was positive that this was a talent of malice that the entire female species exclusively possessed. With a suppressed a chuckle, and instead of over thinking the already rather uncomfortable situation, out of curiosity he exhaled the last of his breath and held his chest still to see if it would persuade a reaction out of her.  There had to be some reason she had found this new sense of kindness-- probably Jet threatening to bill her and actually make her pay her expenses if ol' Spikey Boy kicked the bucket-- but still, no harm in prodding further, right?

            To his surprise, Faye tensed suddenly.  Subconsciously her fingers curled at the absent rise of his chest with a light quiver, and her eyelids pressed together more firmly as the line of her brow quirked lower in worrisome slumber.  Truth be told, she hadn't fallen asleep once since Spike was discharged from the hospital three day's time prior.  Three days and three night's despair, she sat in the seat opposite the sofa, watching over him as he slept.  Some time earlier in the afternoon, being doped up on straight espresso as her newest drug of choice had taunted her to the last, and she drifted into anything but a peaceful oblivion, her hand left to monitor the undulation of his heart.

            A myriad of untold and faceless, distant calls tried to establish further thought process in her weary head, her fingertips twitching as they desperately anticipated his next breath.

            {_Spike!_} Upon seeing this, he quickly resumed the intake of air the moment before she startled awake, her entire body giving a sudden, subtle jerk forward, her head jolted upright and her eyes bolted open in attempt to focus on his chest against the oblique night.  Faye imperatively watched the rhythm of his breathing; her own heightened in fear to accompany the unruly beating of her heart.  For fuck's sake, she needed to find a healthier addiction than caffeine. 

            Gradually, her panic subsided when she became reassured that he was still alive by the way her palm rose tranquilly before descending again.  Her blood ran cold in wake of her fears in a disdain chorus to coincide with the furious pulse within the depths of her temples and against her breast that had begun to calm itself.  She let her eyelids flutter closed over their trepid emerald orbs, muscles growing weak and unstable.  Why she gave a damn in the slightest was a mystery to even herself.  All Spike's death would mean is a bigger room, more food for her, and a nice hot shower from time to time. She tilted her head back, forcing herself to regain composure, her fingers returning to their natural relaxed state though still possessing a fine tremor.

              Spike decided to do what he did best in these types of complicated situations.  Play dumb.  He, as well, closed his eyes, knowing he'd feel some form of remorse if he hadn't been baffled as to why she even gave a shit.

            {{Faye Valentine? Worried about the health of Spike Spiegel...? --I swear to all I hold holy that if that woman's been downing my medicati--}} His train of thought was interrupted by her soft, half relieved, half self-pitying sigh.  It was one of those 'Pull yourself together, you're being anal retentive over absolutely nothing' soughs.  He opened one eye just enough to make out her silhouette as she shakily rose to her feet, hand wistful as it slid off of his chest and laid itself at her side.  It wasn't hard to tell that she was overly neurotic about something or other; a translucent sheen of sweat shimmered over her arms and legs as she padded quietly through the silvery rays of light on her way to the kitchen.

            Faye left the light off for courtesy's sake, not meaning to say that she commonly practiced such a thing, and groped blindly for the vintage porcelain cookie jar Jet prided himself in stealing at the bargain-low-low-price of fifty woolongs.  She hadn't had the heart to tell him he'd been ripped off, what with him recently still being privileged enough to hold onto the short end of the stick and all.   Her hand sank to the bottom of the ceramic teddy bear in search of whatever was left of Jet's secret stash.  She groaned, being able to find only one cigarette that she hadn't taken the liberty of smoking yet, and peered over to one side suspiciously to make sure there were no witnesses before diverting her cunning leer to the other, a maniacally sly smile curling her lips concurrent to distinguishing no one other than herself.  She had come to half-heartedly expect that Spike would foil her attempts at swiping her precious entity since he's done it far too many times before.

            Giddy as a schoolgirl on Shounen Sundays, she strut herself over to the stove top and turned the knob of a frontal burner to singe the end of the packed tobacco the poe' folk way.  Drawing in a deep breath, the embers wound along the edge of the cigarette in a siphonic glow, and the sweet toxin laden smoke filled her mouth.  Almost immediately the nicotine began to work its immaculate sorcery in her blood stream and carry the euphoric tingle of a blithe persuasion from the tips of her toes to the ends of each sleek strand of hair on her momentarily light head.

            Roaming into the fairly extensive cockpit of the old ship, she wrapped her slender waist in her arms for warmth, the soles of her feet quietly meeting the frigid steel floor.  It was, without any doubt, one of the most eerily forlorn of the explored areas of the vessel.  The entire north panel was composed of panes of glass that left the beholder to stare helplessly into the infinite abyss of the ether realm. The only element to warm the lonesome countenance worn by the room being the soft crimson radiance of Mars' surface, ensnaring any indulgent voyeur--which, in this case--happened to be she.

~ * ~

            It didn't take long for the potent aroma of freshly lit tobacco to insinuate itself into the common room, smoke coiling in a mystifying dance as it trifled with emissions of effulgence from the celestial body.  Tainted air dallied pertinaciously with Spike's nostrils.  Though he tried his best to overcome it, he found himself succumbing to the yearning for utter enlightenment rolled neatly in paper and fitted with a filter, which, may he add, enmeshed all nonsensically revealed mysteries of the universe and granted its abuser the privilege of temporarily sound mind alone.  

            _{{You know you're a highly established race when you can buy practical knowledge by the pack and cheese in a can.}} _ He muttered to himself in a bemused sort of way, mostly to take his mind off of the dull (but none the less annoying) pain which compelled every last fiber of his frail muscular structure. And so, the determined, stubborn bastard that he prided himself in being, he steadied himself on the interior of the hull and surrendered to the allure of poison that wafted so provocatively in the air.

~*~

            She lost track of how long her gaze was fixated on the eternal abyss of all promises held so vainly.  Frankly, if you had asked her why she was captivated so, she wouldn't be able to answer without the innocent naiveté of a child of lore.  The twilight held so much blind hope, but it was indecipherably barren in the most virulent of ways.  Briefly, her thoughts lingered on the readings she was sure were from her childhood.  For it was said that if the destiny of the universe was to be known, that it would collapse in a violent demise, and in the ruins, a more complicated structure would be strewn in its place.  It was also said that this had theoretically already happened.  Leaving her to ponder as she did many restless nights; is there a place where dreams reside?  Where fantasy reigns in a lawless bliss?  Or, perhaps, this was her lawless bliss.  Surely her lack of sleep had made her folly in the worst of ways . . .

            "Oi, Faye..." His voice was soothing, and what could be mistaken as hesitant when he slapped on his best poker face and managed to approach her with his usual lithe stride, regardless of the pains which promised to mend at an antagonizingly slow pace.

            Faye's daze was interrupted by his softly spoken words, her tranquil jade orbs focusing on the vitreous reflection of his legs in the pane of glass.  Her head turned to his, meeting his stare with the stereotypical nonchalant expression.  "He lives." Came the sadistic reply, both her finely arched brows raising to emphasize her uncanny sense of sarcasm.  She sat with her knees drawn towards her chest and arms draped around them loosely, the cigarette smoldering between her lofty fingers without a single care in this world.  

            Success.  

            She pinned up her facade in accordance to his without missing a damned beat.  

            Oh, she was good.

            "If it makes you feel any better, I'll still let you have my room..." He began, with his broad, highly amused smile curving the line of his lips. "You'll just have to share the bed with me."

            "Baka." 

            How he had missed being able to tease the hell out of this woman!  Slowly, she stood upright, a coy smile gracing her pout.  She admittedly had this thirst to push a few of Spike's buttons for the sheer challenge of seeing how much she could pry from him.  It was a simple gesture that they both inflicted upon the other; but, in order to claim victory over this little diversion of theirs, one had to remain calm, cool, and collected --all while annoying the ever-loving piss out of their comrade. 

            Her emerald orbs held all which was elusive and in the same instance enticing.  For this was the only way she'd ever willingly look someone in the eyes, her deceit masquerading the traces of his soul.  Reason being because, if you could offer a forsaken stare into the eyes of another, and unravel his torment, interpret his darkest passion, resolve his rage, and fathom his love, then chances are he could do the same.  Therefore, this was the only way. "You know very well you couldn't afford to pay rent, or keep up with me in bed, for that matter." She pointed out bluntly and rested the butt of her cigarette between his lips.  

            Without another word, she smirked triumphantly to relish in her evanescent conquest as her arms folded at the nape of her neck.  According to the unwritten laws of `the game` (which were set in stone somewhere), she would stroll out of the room in a leisurely manner right about...now.  Doing precisely that, since, heavens forbid she be remissive in any way, Faye took her leave.

            "Truth or truth?" His voice was soft and riddled.  Something about how he suddenly became quiet, and almost --dare she say-- melancholy, had rendered her gait helpless.  The silence befell their surroundings in a sullen cocoon, imperceptibly constricting the will to inquire and be inquired. Why he couldn't just gracefully accept defeat was far beyond her, but his tone was nothing promising.  Spike was hardly ever serious unless someone else elbowed him in the gut and forced him to play pretend for a while.  

            Nevertheless, he had to know. 

            "Doushite..." Was all that was liberated from behind the gray cinders that unintelligibly consumed the remainder of the cigarette.  Faye deviated to profile, eyes glittering an inimical chartreuse behind the eve of her lashes as she peered towards his back.  "Why did you cry?" Taupe irises held the orbs of her echoed physique in contempt from the sheet of glass.  She was at a loss for speech, her eyes hostile due to his audacity to intrude on her personal business.  It was best to keep silent in these types of personal situations, for intrigue's sake, until one could utter the proper witty comment.

            "Why do you care?" was her roguish rebuttal.  

            Much to his surprise, she wasn't bitter or snide.  The words she spoke were genuinely curious behind all their apprehensive nature.  He damned her for being so sly in her response, for now, if she was to answer him honestly, he'd be expected to do the same.  Issuing deliberately out of focus, his descry began to settle on the distant plain of immortality beyond the reflection of the glass.  Years, it had been, since Spike realized that he was nothing near invincible; and in the past few months, it had become ostentatiously predominant that he was no more than a man.  As a man, though indecent as it sounds, it was much more elementary to look beyond and often ignore anything which could conceivably infiltrate his pith than it was to behold the whole picture and risk his pride.  Due, nothing was exchanged further, because neither party was willing to do any more than scratch the surface of the other.  

            Neither party was willing to be scratched.  

            Spike had been left to himself, to fall victim to the enrapture of the aidenn which somehow had laced both of their chaotic paths into one and the same.  Ironic, it was, that the craft happened to be lingering between the orbital boundary that separated the lacerations of Earth from the depraved nature of Mars.  Perhaps it was his love of Shakespeare as a child that doted all these supersticions of his, but maybe, just maybe, it had been more.  

            Frankly, why he gave a damn about her tears in the slightest was an exotic concept to even himself.  Though truthfully. . .

                                    . . .well, there was no such thing as 'truth'. . .

**~*~Author's Notations~*~**

**Rouge Night**-I'd like to thank you very much for your reviewing, and yes, I'm very proud of being stuck in the 80's as far as hair bands and heavy metal. =) It's good to know I'm not the only one that is aware of decent music.  As for Velvet Revolver, I just hope Scott isn't as high on his horse as everyone says he is, because as fun as it was to watch Axyl Rose create his drama, the last thing we need is a repeat of a Guns N' Roses as far as breakups are concerned.  

**Glossary:**

"Baka" - Come on, anime junkies, the most basic insult, "idiot"

"Doushite?" - One of the ways to say "why?"


	5. Ballad of Fallen Angels II: Demon's Sona...

**Chapter IV:  Ballad of Fallen Angels II **

**Part I: Demon's Sonata**

            Anastasia's ceremony was a prelude to the three yet to be held.  The stars bejeweled the dawn in their assortment of faded glory, and the sun crept in dismay over the barren wasteland laying line to the extremity of the horizon.  Beyond this graveyard lay the outskirts of the atmospheric dome which encased Tharsis, and as rays of mourning swept across rouge earth they tainted the sunrise with reminiscence of all the blood the city had shed.  

No less than blasphemous, could it be considered, how he seemed to find himself in this very same place, on this very same plain of asphalt, within a city that seeps with such a strong sense of irony that it poisons its habitants neither more nor less the likeness of a vindictive venom. 

            It then occurred to him…

            …_The fragile youth who roamed a cluttered street with his head hung lest the rain wash away his tears.  Tears, which served as the only evidence copulative with actuality while the rest of him threatened to linger within the haven of a dream. _

_            In the grasp of tiny fingers was held a chestnut bear, its once warm fluff becoming matted and chilled by dusk's downpour.  He wasn't quite sure how long he became lost in the slowly dwindling crowd that rushed through the dreary streets.  He wasn't quite sure he cared, either.  With the stuffed toy clutched dear to the boy's chest, he watched through the blur of each occasional tear the fine lines separating sections of pavement and curb alike. _

_            Not having paid any mind to the autumn breeze, it only became apparent to him that he was, in fact, cold when gentle hands laid themselves on the small frame of his shoulders.  The tender touch alone more comforting than one would think, the child ceased his wayward steps to seek the face of the stranger.  From behind an eclipse of thick and sodden sage locks, a cherubic yet hollow gaze settled upon the woman's amiable smile… _

…that he despised this city.

~*~ 

            Paying his respects from afar, Jet stood sullen beneath a broad sable umbrella.  A single raindrop greeted its end softly over the woven black vinyl after having descended from the heavens as an averse messenger, and rolled humbly down the arc before meeting to toe of his shoe.  His gaze, previously fixated on the magnificent panoply of flowers which decorated the mahogany coffin being cast down into the earth, shifted to his polished wing-tip.  He couldn't recall the last time he attended a funeral, or wore a suit for that matter.  It was some sort of awkward that he was attending an interment _with_ Spike instead of attending a ceremony _for_ Spike.

            Although he had to admit that he would rather be doing the former than participating in the latter of the two, there was no way around the fact that this had been the closest rendezvous Spike could've had with the ether realm and lived to tell such a tale.  For Christ's sake, that kid had _the most uncanny way of tantalizing Death -- to the point of something on the borderline of godly essence and just plain madness -- and Jet, while baffled by the concept, could almost thank whatever guardian angel might have the arduous task of ensuring that he live through another month's rent.  Even if, at another glance, one could assume the re-acclimation of tangibility would hinder his pursuit of 'lese majeste' and everything it entailed, all that one could do would be to hope that sense somehow seeped into his thick skull._

~*~

            His head bowed in respect to the evangelist's last hymn to the deceased, Spike's weathered fingers released the belladonna from their gentle grip.  Opening his eyes only to behold the fading dawn, he admired the delicate flower as it descended below his level ground.  

The few rays of sunlight which pierced the mournful, cryptic blanket of gray that had since their arrival consumed the crystalline arc shone on the fragile white petals, illuminating its path to the underworld and embracing its silhouette.  He watched longingly as it made gentle brush with the stone staircase entreating entrance to the tomb beneath the earth before landing soft in the bed of flowers which drowned the top of the coffin.  Everlasting as his gaze was, time had lagged on his account, and Paisery had made certain that he notice the subtle ripple among the perfected arrangement his single flower had caused as it found its niche.    

            …_Bounding above the pavement in lou of its fall, a belladonna shed a light dust of pollen as it met the ground a second time unbeknownst to the pair of now far away and beyond boys.  Each of them held in their arms an entire bouquet of nothing other than the beautiful flower, some of their stems still smeared with soil from being so hastily plucked from the hillside on the outskirts of town._

_            Shoulder to shoulder the two stumbled over one another's purposely displaced steps as they darted down the sidewalk and through the few people littering the streets.  Spike gave a sable headed boy a hearty shove and left him trying to maintain balance on the brink of the curb.  Turning his head to offer a sneer in Lin's direction while running, which was just an added point of boast, he managed to collide with a young woman and her beloved grocery bag.  Yes indeed, Spike Spiegel was as smooth as Don Juan even at the tender age of eleven._

_            The woman, falling flat on her rear from impact among the stock of fruits which tumbled from the brim of the paper bag and dispersed in a rainbow of color over the sidewalk, was apparently shocked once she realized what happened.  Half-expectantly, her eyes wandered from the scuffed sneakers of the little boy, upward along the lanky jean clad legs, to meet an armful of soil peppered among blooms.  He kneeled apologetically before her and offered his hand, a small figure scurrying from his peripheral vision and towards the street corner._

_            "Gomenasai!" he blurted in a curt, though kind tone, placing one of the flowers into her palm and dashing after the kid who had waddled passed.  _

_            As he waited impatiently beside the luminous pedestrian sign radiating letters of crimson he could not yet read for the current wave of traffic to sedate itself from chaos, Shin too had a bundle of flowers in his arms.  Unsettled and quite impatient, he bit his lower lip at the sight of both Spike and his brother dashing with a newfound passion in his direction.  The look in their eyes that suggested murderous desire was nothing promising; and since he couldn't decide whether or not they'd rather ram each other into the faces of buildings than pick on the innocent baby of the family, he opted for his recently adopted 'run like hell' technique._

_            Witnessing the calamity from a window, Annie chuckled breathily, removing her hand and letting the sheer curtain flutter gracefully into place once more.  She had expected the police to be dragging the trio home with shackles around their ankles adjacent to the ball and chain after their confounding behavioral sense earlier in the day.  Having them return with swollen limbs and bruised cheeks was greatly favored over the reminiscence of their last less-than-pleasant encounter with the moderately bored Tharsis police force.  _

_            Home._

_            She had reminded herself to refrain from the loose usage of that particular word…_


End file.
